My Dinner In Hell
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn. Lassie. Henry. Dinner... Need I say more?
1. Chapter 1

"Dad!" Shawn called up the stairs, leaving the backdoor hanging wide open and tossing his helmet on the couch.

There was no answer.

"Dad?" He tried again, quieter this time.

When Henry once again didn't respond, Shawn grinned.

_Maybe he's not home… _

"I'm taking your metal detector!" He yelled. "If you don't care, don't say anything!"

After a brief pause, barely long enough for his father to respond if he wanted to, Shawn headed towards the garage.

"Thanks!"

As he passed by the front door, he heard Henry's voice from the porch.

"You're not touching my metal detector, Shawn!"

_Damn…_Shawn groaned.

_He is here… _

He sighed and stepped out onto the porch.

His father was sitting in one of the chairs, sipping at a beer as he tended the coals in the grill.

"Why not?" Shawn demanded.

"Because last time you and Gus went treasure hunting, it took me three hours to clean the sand out of it."

Shawn opened his mouth to rebut, but a sharp voice from behind him cut him off.

"Aww, what's the matter, Spencer? Dad take away your toys?"

Shawn spun around, all the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Sitting in a chair in the other corner of the porch was Detective Lassiter.

"_Lassie_? What the--"

"We were having dinner, Shawn." Henry interjected.

"_Dinner_?" Shawn's eyes were wide in horror. "Oh, God! Don't tell me I interrupted a _date_!"

He turned back to Lassiter.

"You're not my real mommy!"

Lassiter scowled.

"Cute, Spencer."

"Shawn, stop being an ass," Henry ordered, putting his beer on the table and walking to the door.

Shawn followed him into the kitchen.

"Dad! What are you doing?" He demanded, keeping his voice low so Lassiter wouldn't hear from the porch.

Henry opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of marinating steaks.

"I told you. Having dinner." He answered simply, putting the bowl on the counter and grabbing another beer.

"With _Lassie_?"

"Why not?"

"Because!" Shawn huffed indignantly. "You can't!"

Henry rolled his eyes and started back to the porch with the steaks.

"Last time I checked, Shawn, it was still a free country."

Shawn grabbed his shoulder, dragging him back into the kitchen.

"But it's _Lassie!_" He hissed emphatically, as if that fact alone should be more than enough reason for his father to listen to him.

Henry just blinked uncomprehendingly.

"So?"

"So, he hates me! He called me a smart-ass punk today!"

"That just means he's perceptive."

"Shut up."

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Henry demanded. "Since when do you care who I have dinner with?"

"What if you blow my cover?" Shawn shot back. "You know he's spent the last three months trying to prove I'm a fake! What if he's just here to get you to admit I'm not really a psychic?"

Henry was genuinely insulted.

"You really think I'm going to crack after two beers and a steak, Shawn?"

"You might," Shawn insisted stubbornly.

"I know something about police interrogation methods, Kid. Trust me. There's usually more yelling and less eating involved."

He shook his son's hand off his shoulder and walked back onto the porch, tossing the steaks onto the grill.

Shawn was right behind him. He plopped down into a chair, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at his father.

"Are you staying?" Henry asked flatly, returning the glare.

"I'm sure as hell not _leaving!_"

"Then get the other steak."

"Fine."

Shawn stomped back into the house.

Lassiter glanced at Henry quizzically.

Henry just raised his shoulders.

"Don't ask me. He gets it from his mother…"

Shawn returned a moment later, steak in hand, still shooting daggers at his father with his eyes as he plopped it on the grill alongside the others.

If Henry noticed his son's ire, however, he certainly didn't let it show.

Lassiter cleared his throat as an awkward silence ensued, his eyes darting between Henry and Shawn.

"Well, this is going to be fun…" he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the sizzling steaks permeated the otherwise silent porch as Shawn and Henry continued to stare each other down.

Finally, Henry broke eye-contact with his son to look at Detective Lassiter.

"Did you know Shawn had a lisp until he was seven?" He asked pointedly.

"Did you know my dad gets misty-eyed at Disney movies?" Shawn countered.

"Is there any more beer…?" Lassiter murmured, rolling his eyes.

Henry tossed him one from the cooler at his feet.

The detective immediately opened it and took a long, grateful sip.

After another interminable, painfully silent interval, he finally spoke.

"Henry, about fishing on Saturday—"

"_Fishing_?" Shawn shouted, almost dropping his own beer on the porch floor. "You're going _fishing_, too?"

"I'm sorry, Shawn." Henry snapped. "Did you want a full itinerary of all my weekend plans?"

"You have an actual _itinerary_?" Shawn gawked. "What does it say? 1- Be grumpy…2- Use vast array of obscure, useless tools to fix something I should probably just throw away but I'm too cheap… 3- Criticize Shawn…"

"A ball peen hammer is _not_ an obscure tool, Shawn. Just because _you_ don't know how to use one…"

"Dad. _No one_ knows how to use one."

"I know how to use one…" Lassiter spoke up, realizing even as the words came out of his mouth that it was a stupid thing to say.

He suddenly had both sets of irate Spencer eyes glaring at him.

He just glared back.

"Well, I do."

"What?" Shawn groused sullenly. "Is there, like, a 'Useless Tool Trivia Day' at the Police Academy or something? Do they offer that course after 'How to Keep Your Shoes Really Shiny 101' and 'Creative Ticket Writing'?"

Now it was Shawn's turn to have two sets of eyes burning a hole through his skull.

_Crap…_he thought, realizing his mistake a moment too late.

_I just united them against a common enemy…_

_…Me…_

"You wouldn't last two days at the Academy, Spencer." Lassiter spat disdainfully.

"He'd quit before he walked through the door." Henry agreed, nodding. "He wouldn't make it past the haircut."

"No one's cutting my hair!" Shawn shouted, his hands instinctively covering the top of his head.

Lassiter and Henry both laughed, shaking their heads.

Shawn immediately dropped his hands by his sides, but it was too late.

They were mocking him.

_Together._

"What the hell happened, Henry?" Lassiter asked, grinning.

"Don't look at me." Henry shrugged. "He gets that from his mother, too."

"Clearly." Shawn muttered. "She actually _has _hair."

But the two men ignored the barb.

"Steaks are done." Henry announced, loading them on a plate.

"Good."

Lassiter stood up and followed Henry into the house.

Shawn could hear them as they walked through the kitchen into the dining room, still talking about how disappointing he had turned out…

"God, that's all I need…" he rolled his eyes, following after them a minute later. "_Two _of them…"


	3. Chapter 3

"Spencer!" Lassiter laughed, looking up from the table as Shawn finally ambled into the dining room.

"What?"

"You couldn't tie your shoes until you were _eight_?"

Shawn glowered at his father as he slid into a chair and picked up his knife and fork.

"That wasn't my fault!" He insisted. "That bunny bastard would go around the tree and through the hole, but he wouldn't come back out again!"

"Yeah, Shawn." Henry rolled his eyes, grinning cruelly. "Blame the bunny."

"I will!"

He sliced into his steak acrimoniously, trying desperately to figure out some way to break up the Axis of Evil that was sitting across the table from him..._laughing_ at him…

_There has to be something I can do… _

_Something… _

A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face as a plan took shape in his mind.

_What's the one thing my dad can never pass up to opportunity to do? _

_…Criticize someone! _

_What's the one thing Lassie can't stand…besides devilishly handsome psychic detectives? _

_…Being criticized! _

"Dad," he asked, barely able to contain his maniacal laughter. "Did Lassie tell you I closed the Francis case today?"

"Really?" Henry replied flatly as he cut into his own steak, clearly uninterested in this new conversation.

Lassiter, however, had stopped chewing and was already scowling at Shawn.

_He's knows what I'm doing… _

"Yeah," Shawn continued slowly, choosing each word deliberately. "I saw everything in a psychic vision…turns out that Lassie here was going after the wrong guy the whole time."

Henry's eyebrows shot up.

_Here it comes… _

"Really?" He murmured, casting an accusing sidelong glance at the suddenly sullen detective.

"Shut up, Spencer." Lassiter warned, but they both knew that Shawn wasn't going to shut up.

He was having way too much fun now that someone else was about to be on the receiving end of _The Complete Henry Spencer Lecture Series on Proper Police Procedure, Volumes 1-9_.

"Now, now, Lassie." Shawn consoled Henry's new quarry with a patronizing head-tilt. "I'm sure it happens to lots of detectives…focusing on the wrong suspect…_accusing_ him, even…missing all the obvious clues staring you right in the face…"

"Spencer…" Lassiter growled dangerously, but Shawn was not to be deterred this time.

"I mean, I know when my dad was on the force, he made mistakes like that all the time. Right, Dad?" He finished with an innocent smile, twisting the knife one last time.

_Here it comes… _

_Here it comes… _

_The Axis of Evil is about to collapse… _

A heavy silence hung in the air as Henry took his time chewing his food, weighing his options carefully before he finally swallowed and responded.

"I made mistakes, sure."

"_What?_"

Shawn dropped his fork, completely taken aback. He quickly spun around and looked out the window behind him, but as far as he could tell Hell hadn't frozen over and no pigs were flying by…

_Then what the hell is going on? _

_Since when does Henry Spencer admit to making mistakes? _

"You made _what_?" He asked again, convinced somewhere in the back of his mind that he had just heard wrong.

"Mistakes, Shawn." Henry shrugged. "I made mistakes in investigations. Everyone does. Hell, even you've made them from time to time, Mr. Great Psychic Detective."

"Name _one_!" Shawn demanded.

Henry crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair defiantly.

"Thinking you could manipulate me _that_ easily, for one."


	4. Chapter 4

"You want more?" Henry asked. "I've got plenty of mistakes you've made."

"No," Shawn muttered dourly.

"I do." Lassiter grinned, his teeth flashing at Shawn. Henry shot him one sharp look, however, and his smile quickly faded.

"Never mind," he mumbled, clearing his throat as casually as possible.

They each looked down at their plates, the task of eating steak suddenly requiring their complete and undivided attention. For a few minutes, none of them spoke as the sound of knives and forks diligently cutting meat filled the room.

"Did you know Mad Cow Disease has nothing to do with angry cows?" Shawn asked suddenly, looking up from his plate.

Henry and Lassiter raised their eyebrows questioningly at him.

"What?" Henry asked.

"It's true." Shawn insisted. "I just always imagined these herds of really pissed-off cows storming the farmhouse with pitchforks and torches…but, apparently, the cows aren't all that angry."

"You're an idiot." Henry told him, not even needing actual words.

His piercingly eloquent eyes said it all.

"Well, I know _I'd_ be pissed-off if someone was going to turn me into hamburger…" Shawn mumbled defensively before letting the conversation drop.

The clatter of silverware on plates once again overtook the house.

Finally, Lassiter broke the silence.

"Spencer."

"Huh?" Shawn looked up again, surprised to see Lassiter was grinning at him.

"Where the hell did you think pissed-off cows would find torches and pitchforks?"

Shawn smiled back.

"Well, obviously they stole the pitchforks from the farmers."

"Obviously."

"…and everyone knows that cows are nature's pyromaniacs…"

Lassiter actually laughed.

"You're an idiot, Spencer."

"Well, it's an ambiguously-named disease!" Shawn asserted.

Henry just rolled his eyes.

"I think I need another beer…" he muttered to himself, standing up and walking into the kitchen.

Lassiter and Shawn regarded each other quietly across the table.

"You can tie your shoes _now_, right?" Lassiter asked after a brief lull.

"Yes, I can tie my shoes now." Shawn snapped back sarcastically.

"Just checking."

Lassiter put his knife down.

"So, about these mistakes you've made in investigations…" he pressed.

"Shut up, Lassie." Shawn scowled, still fuming about his now-tarnished reputation as the detective with a 1000 batting-average.

"Right."

Henry was back a moment later, looking particularly sour.

"We're out of beer." He announced, taking a seat at the table again.

Shawn's ears perked as he saw his chance at redemption.

He quickly closed his eyes, his eyebrow arching thoughtfully.

"There's one left in the fridge, Dad. On the door, behind the ketchup." He said.

Henry stood up.

"Are you sure?"

Shawn's eyes popped open. He snorted, insulted by the question.

"Dad, please."

"Okay…" Henry shrugged, heading back into the kitchen.

Shawn grinned at Lassiter when he was sure his father was gone.

"There's totally no beer." He whispered, his eyes dancing evilly.

"Then why—"

"Just to piss him off."

"Are you _insane_?"

Henry stomped back in a moment later, glaring spitefully at his son.

"There wasn't anything there, Shawn." He snapped.

"Oh, gee, Dad. Guess I made a mistake." Shawn shrugged innocently.

Lassiter coughed loudly, his eyes darting nervously between Shawn and Henry, who were once again locked in a stare-down.

"You did not!" Henry insisted, not fooled for a moment by Shawn's act.

"Sure I did."

"Shawn," Henry growled, crossing his arms. "_You_ don't make mistakes like that!"

Only after the words came tumbling out of his mouth did Henry realize that he'd walked right into his son's trap. But by then, it was too late. Shawn's face had already broken into a wide grin.

"I know."


	5. Chapter 5

Lassiter snorted, trying to suppress a laugh.

Henry glared at him, but for once Lassiter didn't flinch.

"Hey," he grinned, shrugging helplessly. "_You_ said it, Henry."

"Yeah, Dad." Shawn agreed with a smirk of his own. "It sure is a good thing you're not easy to manipulate."

"Shut up, Shawn."

"I'm sorry…" Shawn blinked. "Was it a mistake to say that?"

"I'm warning you, Kid…"

Shawn laughed, looking over at Lassiter.

"You're about to witness a Spencer Family Dinner staple, Lassie…the exploding of Henry Spencer's head. If you listen carefully, you can actually hear the fuse burning…"

"Spencer…" Lassiter murmured, casting a wary eye at Henry, who did appear to be on the verge of exploding.

"Sh-sh…" Shawn returned, raising a finger for silence and tilting his ear towards his father. "Can you hear that, Lassie? Can you hear the fuse burning?"

"Uh…"

But Henry's head didn't explode. He sat down without another word, continuing to eat his steak with a cool defiance, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

Lassiter took the hint and quickly followed suit. Only Shawn didn't seem to realize they had moved on.

"Oh, come on, Dad!" He reproached. "That was good, and you know it!"

Henry put down his knife again and crossed his arms, meeting his son's gaze squarely.

"Shawn, you know I could end this with four words." He intoned.

Shawn's eyes grew wide as he realized what his father was threatening.

"You wouldn't!" He gasped, horrified.

"Wouldn't I?"

He raised four fingers, ready to count them off with each word.

"Don't do it!" Shawn warned.

But Henry had already made up his mind.

"Shawn…" he began, lowering the first finger.

"Dad!"

"Has…"

"Don't do it!"

"A blankie." Henry finished, the last finger folding neatly into his fist.

Shawn's eyes bulged furiously.

"I can't believe you did it! I can't believe you brought Mr. Blankie into this!"

"_Mr_. Blankie?" Lassiter repeated, finally giving up even trying to suppress his laughter.

"I was, like, three years-old!" Shawn explained defensively. "What was I supposed to call it?"

"But you're not three anymore," Henry pointed out. "And you _still_ call it that."

"Well, that's his name!"

"Wait a minute…" Lassiter interjected, grinning at Shawn like a kid on Christmas morning. "You still have it? You kept your blankie?"

"I didn't keep it," Shawn contended. "I just didn't throw it away. It's not like I sleep with it or anything! I don't even know where it is!"

"Sure," Lassiter nodded, obviously choosing not to believe him.

"I don't! It's in some box somewhere!"

But Shawn knew it was pointless to protest. A psychic detective who still slept with a blankie was just too good a story not to spread it around the precinct….

He scowled at his father.

_See what you did?_ His eyes accused.

Henry just shrugged.

_Checkmate._ His eyes replied.

Shawn huffed crossly, knowing this was far from over.

There had to be a suitable revenge.

"At least I don't make mistakes," he muttered into his plate, trying to salvage his wounded pride. "I've solved, what, five cases in three months?"

"Six." Lassiter muttered, almost inaudibly.

Henry and Shawn looked up at him, surprised by the automaticity of his response.

"What?" He scowled at them, realizing his slip. "It's not like _I'm_ the one keeping track!"

"Aww, Lassie," Shawn gushed. "It's okay. You can admit it. You totally keep track."

"I do not!" Lassiter shouted.

"Sure you do! You go home every night and record all my cases in your little Shawn diary…"

"Spencer I don't give a _crap _how many cases you solve!" Lassiter barked, glaring at Henry now. "It's just hard to forget a number you've heard _a thousand damn times_!"

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. His face could barely contain his broad smile as he turned towards his father, who suddenly looked like he might throw up.

"Really!" He beamed. "A _thousand_ times, Dad?"

Henry had already recovered from the shock, however, and his jaw was now firmly set into a spiteful grimace. His eyes were staring at Lassiter, doing their best to make him spontaneously burst into flames.

"Were you bragging on me?" Shawn pressed, enjoying this Ultimate Henry Burn more than any other moment in his entire life.

It was a revenge far sweeter than any he could have possibly imagined.

"Absolutely not!" Henry growled.

"You were, too!"

"Shawn! I was not!"

"You _so_ were! You were bragging on me!"

"Reciting a statistic is _not _bragging, Shawn." Henry insisted doggedly. "It's just math."

"Math!" Shawn snorted. "Please!"

Lassiter quickly stood up and checked his watch, Henry's death-stare finally getting to him.

"Oh, drat." He mumbled without feeling. "I have to…leave…now."

" Lassie, stay!" Shawn ordered, wanting to harangue his father more about his 'math'.

"I don't think so, Spencer."

"But don't you want coffee or dessert?"

Lassiter was practically running for the porch steps. He paused, calling over his shoulder before disappearing down the driveway.

"Hell no!"


End file.
